


lemon ginger.

by ffomixam



Series: tumblr requests. [42]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Caretaking, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Short One Shot, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 06:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19371082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffomixam/pseuds/ffomixam
Summary: "Could you do a like 66-67 era sickfic where Paul is sick (possibly after doing too many drugs/drinking too much) and John takes care of him? Lots of angst possible in this request! :-)"





	lemon ginger.

1967,

Paul waltzed through the room, occasionally skipping a beat and bumping into furniture that didn’t stand where they should. Damn, who had moved them around? He was fucking wasted; having had bottomed one drink after another in celebration of his good ol’ buddy George. It was his birthday! Or it had been; as the blurry looking clock informed him it was well over midnight. He giggled and continued towards the bedroom. 

Man, someone had really moved the house around. He couldn’t remember having a clock like that and now he was in the kitchen; definitely not his bedroom.  _What_? He spun around as he looked around the room; making himself dizzy in the process and flopped down unto the cool tile floor. He heard a murmur somewhere off in the distance and paid it no mind as he petted the cold floor. 

His friend John appeared in the entrance leading into the kitchen. He appeared first shocked but it quickly turned into a frown as he looked down at Paul who blinked up at him.

“What’re you doing in my house?”

Paul asked and tried to stand up but only slipped back down again with his back hard against the wooden counters. John shook his head and crouched down to look at him. He looked tired and only wore a pair of briefs. Weird.

“I live here, Paul,” he said and put a firm hand on his shoulder; keeping him down. Paul stammered and looked around with narrowing eyes. That would explain the decor. He might be blasted but even in this state, he knew the two of them didn’t live together.

John laughed a slight and Paul’s attention returned to him; “I’m the sober responsible for once, eh?”

Paul animatedly nodded in response, almost knocking their heads together. He shouldn’t have done that, he realised, as the nausea returned. He felt the calloused hands of John reach under his arms and slowly lifted him up with an ‘ _oof_ ’ and something about him getting heavy which he,  _of course_ , paid no mind to as Paul was in fabulous shape and how dare he think anything otherwise.

“Cyn is with Julian at her parents’ house,” he was informed as he staggered, or rather were dragged, towards what this time was hopefully the bedroom. It was, as Paul quickly felt as he was tossed onto the bouncing bed that caused him to giggle as he went up and down… and up and down. John steadied him and looked down at him (again!) with narrowed eyes. It was then Paul noticed something… peculiar.

“Whassat on your face?” 

He managed to slur out and tried to sit up as he reached and poked John’s upper lip with his index finger. John pulled away from him with a laugh.

“It’s me moustache. You have one too, y’know.”

Paul gaped at the man in front of him.  _What_! His hands shot to his face, and inadvertently slapping himself but it was swiftly ignored as he felt the furry hairs on his lip. When had that happened? Oooh boy, he was getting queasy. He rolled off the bed and crawled to a basket and threw up rather violently into it. He heard John yell at him. He wasn’t sure of completely what but it sounded like something about ‘ _wool’_  and ‘ _impossible to clean’_  and ‘ _Cynthia’_. He fell unto his back and glanced towards a rather irritated looking John.

He could fix this! Turn on the charm! Paul smiled and whispered a small  _hi_  but only a hiccup was delivered. And, God, was his breath bad. His hiccuping continued as he silently looked at John rolling his eyes.

“Stay here. I’ll get some water for ye,” and then he left. Leaving Paul on the floor waving his arms around for whatever reason. He was sobering up fast and his stomach wasn’t a fan of that fact. Throwing up had both made it better and worse. He felt sick but not like throwing up again. John would appreciate him not throwing up. He sat up and scooted far back into till he hit the bed with his back. And there he resigned himself on waiting on John to return.

He managed himself in the few minutes that went by studying the various items in the room. He had been in here before, he was sure of it. Though he couldn’t recall a time he had. A lot of items indicated the people living here. Various music related items. Homey items. Apparently, Cynthia knitted. He was sure he knew this! But it seemed like news to him as he sat and looked at the pointed sticks on the bedside table.

John reappeared, as Paul could hear from the approaching tapping of feet on wooden flooring. He only ever saw him again when he appeared in Paul’s line of sight with a clear glass of water. They stared at each other in silence and Paul wondered if it was him they were waiting on or… what.

“Ye’re a mess,” John muttered and handed him the glass. It was very fancy looking and Paul quickly downed it; it was deliciously cold and he gave a big sigh of relief as he felt it make its presence known through his chest and the bottom of his stomach. He heard a faint hissing sound and looked to John in silent questioning. He muttered something about ‘ _tea_ ’ and ‘ _lemon ginger_ ’ before leaving the room (and Paul alone) again.

Paul felt a sudden heaviness overtake him and let go of the muscles in his neck to lightly bounce it off the soft mattress. He felt tired. Oh, so tired. He tried to stay awake; for John’s sake. But his eyelids were heavy and slowly closed themselves shut as he fell asleep to the sound of the drinking glass rolling on the floor where he had dropped it.


End file.
